


With the Best Interest

by thisissirius



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidental Soulbonding, High School, M/M, Magic Spells Have Gone Awry, Reincarnation, soulbonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reincarnation!fic. Merlin’s spent so long being everything Arthur wants that now it’s time to take something for himself. He just wants to stop feeling tired all the time. {some gwen/arthur, morgana/merlin and gwen/lancelot mentioned but extremely brief}</p>
            </blockquote>





	With the Best Interest

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to a & i who are always tireless betas; all remaining mistakes are my own, of which there are probably plenty. i loved this prompt the moment i saw it and i hope i did it justice. i know i threw in accidental soul bonding which you in no way asked for but it just happened. i hope this is everything you wanted it to be.
> 
> The characters depicted herein belong to Shine and BBC. I make no profit from this endeavour.

**zero.**

>   
> 
> 
> He’s going to live forever. He doesn’t realise that means _for all eternity_ until it’s too late.  
>   
> 

**one.**

> The halls are teeming with students. This is the part that Merlin hates the most about the first day of a new school year. He’s being directed to his locker by a kid with far too much enthusiasm, not that he’s much older and he really needs to stop thinking people are younger than him without knowing why. He’ll add that to the mental list he’s making of things that bother him without knowing why. Something about him is familiar but Merlin walks around with a permanent sense of déjà vu, so it’s not a new phenomenon.

> Starting new schools is always weird but he’s been especially nervous about moving schools at this time of the year. He’s heard stories about kids having the shit kicked out of them or whatever, but he’s not worried about that. He’s pretty much been labelled the weird kid everywhere he goes and he doesn’t care as long as people stay out of his way. What does bother him are pre-established patterns. He hates trying to break into social groups formed way before he gets to the school soil.

> The guy is still hovering and Merlin wants to ignore him but mother raised him to be polite. “What year are you?”

> “Eleven,” the guys says with a grin. “What’s your first class?”

> Merlin’s been looking at his schedule all weekend and he feels like it’s burnt into the back of his eyes. “English.”

> Still grinning, the guy claps him on the back. “Good luck with that. Maybe see you ‘round, Merlin.”

> Merlin frowns, knowing that he didn’t actually give out his name. Before he can question it, the bell rings.

> His form room is easier to find than he expects, even with the halls full of students. They’re lining the halls and stairs and when he gets to where he’s supposed to be, he hovers at the end of the line, feeling awkward and obvious. His mother packed him off to school with a kiss and a promise not to worry; year eleven was a big change for all students, not just Merlin and he wasn’t going to be the only one that felt out of place. The line starts to move into the classroom and Merlin follows, distracted by thoughts of the rest of the year.

> He’s the last in and as soon as he steps through the door, something prickles along the back of his neck. It’s startling enough that he has to fight down the urge to turn and run. _Okay, weird_. Shaking his head, he starts to look around for a vacant seat –

> \- and freezes.

> He knows those eyes. And those, and _those_. Memories cascade over him and he almost doubles-up under the effort to control them. It’s always the same, shock, fear, anger. An overwhelming sense of loss that he can never explain except this time, this time he knows exactly what it is.

> “Merlin,” Gwen says, slowly, like she might be wrong.
>
>>  
>> 
>> There’s blood on the side of her face, a cry on her lips to save Camelot. Merlin stands in the dirt, face smeared by the tears of fury he’d been unable to quell. Her dress is shredded, caked in mud from where she’s hugging the ground, Arthur’s head in her lap. He wants to ask her what she’s doing, why she’s even here but he can’t make his mouth work. _You’ve failed_ , she cries, tears on her own face. _You couldn’t even-_

> > \- he’s tried. That counts. It has to.
>> 
>>  
> 
> It’s just a classroom of rowdy teenagers.

> Behind her, Morgana looks too pale against her black uniform. She’s looking at him, almost _through_ him and he tells himself to calm. She’s dangerous because he doesn’t know what she’s capable of. They’ve been losing their magic, slowly and surely, but he learned a long time ago to stop telling her what was happening. Maybe she regrets what she did, maybe not.
>
>>   
> 
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> It’s a curse. It sinks into his skin like liquid poison as he breathes in air tainted by her very presence. He tries to ignore the press of her fingers to his neck, turning his head to the side and closing his eyes. This was never magic that he would have taught her, never magic that he would have touched with his own hands. This has Morgause all over it and Merlin wants to ask why, why she couldn’t just come home. They could have had everything but isn’t that just the be all and end all of their lives;

> > they destroy what they should covet.
>> 
>>  
> 
> Either way, Merlin isn’t going to trust her before he’s sure.

> He chooses a seat on the far side of the classroom, ignoring Gwen’s questioning gaze. Let her think what she likes. Let her wonder. Merlin doesn’t owe anybody anything, not anymore. It feels like a weight pressing down on his shoulders, reminding him that he can’t escape it, not really. He can try. He _will_ try.

> Across the classroom, Arthur’s gaze burns into the back of his neck.

>  

**two.**

>   
> 
> 
> It’s not until they meet that they remember.

> They’ve spent years trying to figure out the logistics but it always comes to nothing. There’s no discernible pattern, no rhyme or reason to the way this works. Merlin never believed that reincarnation was possible but Morgana broke the secret, released magic that should never have seen the light of day. The curse still ripples over his skin and it stifles his magic. He’s only ever felt this alone, this _bereft_ once, and that was with the darocha. He remembers promises made in the cold and oft-walked path towards death. He’d told Lancelot; _something that’s more important than anything_. He had been so worth it _then_. Merlin isn’t sure he knows what that means anymore.

> They’re sitting at a table, gravitating together like they always do. Morgana looks uncomfortable, sitting as far away from them as she possibly can and yet still remain present. Merlin remembers when they were fearless, a quartet that nothing could have broken. Except _themselves_. They were always so fragile around the edges, fraying until everything unravelled and they were broken, scattered across the years and nothing they did could take them back to the start.

> Arthur’s talking, he always talks, and Merlin wants to pay attention. His body thrums with anger that he tries to keep under control. He stares at them all in turn. Morgana, the reason this curse throws them together time and time again. Gwen, a friend he could have had forever if she didn’t want the one thing he coveted above all else. Arthur, the stupid, idiotic prat who couldn’t even admit that he had done something wrong.

> Merlin grips the edge of his dinner tray and forces slow breaths in and out of his nose. He doesn’t want to get angry here, not where other students can see. He wants to find Gwaine or Lancelot, someone who will understand and be able to sympathise but he doesn’t even know if they‘re _here_. Before it would have been Gwen, Morgana and Arthur; now the three people he’s the most uncertain of.

> Standing abruptly, chair skidding out across the floor, Merlin walks off without a word.
>
>>   
> 
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> “Why don’t you live your life instead of always trying to take mine!”
>> 
>>  
> 
> Merlin retreats to the playing field.

> It’s always calming to be away from the constant noise of the students. Every world is the same; they never age beyond that of their first death. It never feels morbid to roll those words around in his head, think about the many times he’s died. Always with Arthur’s name on his lips and the stare of wide blue eyes following him down into darkness. Except that first time.

> Propping his chin on his knees, Merlin wonders if he has enough magic left to wish Lancelot or Gwaine into existence. He’s never managed it before, barely able to conjure up a simple fire that time they were stuck in the wilderness. The years change, the people change, but the things that make them inherently _human_ do not. Merlin walks an earth reminiscent of that he left behind long ago but he can never picture the fields and villages of old. The land rising up to meet the great city of Camelot, ruled over by a King who would have died for a peasant as much as a Knight.

> Merlin used to know how that felt.
>
>>   
> 
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> _a servant who is incredibly brave_
>> 
>>  
> 
> “Somewhere along the way, running became the easier way out,” Morgana says, sitting down on the grass next to him. She stretches out her legs, ankles crossed. He keeps his eyes on her shoes, tracing the stitching slowly. He doesn’t know which of them she’s talking about.

> The silence stretches but doesn’t become uneasy. With everything that’s between them, he’s never felt uncomfortable around Morgana. She understands him in ways he can barely begin to imagine. Even if he can blame her for things, _hate_ her for things, he knows deep down that he is responsible for the person she became. Keeping secrets was never his forte and he’s proven time and again that he should stop. Honesty had been freeing in one lifetime, one that had blown up spectacularly in his face and he no longer knows which path he should walk.

> Sometimes he wishes Gaius was still around to talk to.

> Merlin tilts his head, finally, in acquiescence. “Standing my ground only worked for so long.”

> Morgana smiles when he risks a look at her face, a tight, sad smile. “And yet better than you think.”

> “That was different.” Merlin picks at the knee of his trousers. He’s not looking for distraction; he just needs time to gather his thoughts. Sometimes he forgets what talking to Morgana is like. More often than not she completely ignores him, biding her time until they shift again. He hates to think of it as dying, even if that is what they do, every time. Sometimes there are huge gaps between lifetimes, others mere days have passed.

> She opens her mouth to say something but he cuts across her.

> “I’m _tired_ , Morgana. I can’t be a teenager again; I can’t live this over and over, ending up alone.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling her all this, revealing secrets he’s barely accepted himself as truth. “You made us this. You cursed us all to this cycle of life and death.”

> Climbing to his feet, he brushes down his clothes and feels tired to the bone. He wants to sleep for a hundred years or more but he knows it’s impossible. She stares straight ahead but he can see her knuckle-white grip on the ground at her sides. He leaves her to the simmering anger and hatred she’s been nursing since Camelot.
> 
>  
> 
>  

**three**

>   
> 
> 
> “You could tell me what I did wrong.” Arthur slides into the chair next to Merlin, kicking his bag under the desk.

> Merlin ignores him, lamenting the fact that all other seats are taken. Escaping Arthur has never been as easy as he would like. He tries to focus on the whiteboard, on the steady stream of mathematics that he can sink into like a second skin. There’s something calming and _right_ about math. It makes as much sense to him as magic and he can never forget the feel of that.

> Arthur allows him the silence for about ten minutes. “Merlin.”

> Tightening his grip on his pen, Merlin blinks slowly, turning to glower as best he can at Arthur. “If I have to be stuck in a dumb school this time around, I want to do it without you.”

> The words fall between them like a promise and Arthur straightens, the surprise fleeting in his eyes. Merlin tells himself not to feel guilty and focuses on the book in front of him, the endless problems and solutions sinking into a mess of incoherence. His chest tightens and he wants to take the words back, swallow them down and pretend he never even _thought_ them.

> Arthur doesn’t say anything for the rest of the class. Merlin isn’t a coward. He doesn’t run as soon as the bell signals the end of the lesson. He remains seated, staring at the table as though it will reveal its secrets and tell him how he’s supposed to handle this. He doesn’t expect Arthur’s hand on his elbow, hauling him up and out of the classroom. He waves a hand to indicate his bag but Arthur pulls him into the corridor and presses him against the wall, ignoring the stares and whispers of the students passing.

> “I get that you’re pissed. I get that you hate this shifting from life to life. It’s not picnic for me either, Merlin. If there was a way to end this, don’t you think I would?”

> Arthur’s angry. At _him_. Merlin’s own fury flares and he shoves back. He catches Arthur by surprise and they both stumble away from each other. There’s a vicious tug behind Merlin’s navel and he mistakes it for anger. “You already ended it. When you told me to stay away from you.”

> There’s a subtle shift on Arthur’s face. It’s imperceptible, unnoticeable to the untrained eye but Merlin’s been watching Arthur for years. He knows exactly what to look for. “Merlin-“

> “Don’t,” Merlin says. The tiredness is back. He just wants to find somewhere to crawl and sleep. He makes his way back into the classroom and grabs his bag, ignoring the sound of Arthur taking the stairs two at a time and the way the ache behind his navel seems to become sharper rather than disappear.
>
>>  
>> 
>> Arthur rests his chin in the hollow of Merlin’s collarbone. He noses along the stubble lining Merlin’s jaw and kisses him full on the mouth, lips soft and lingering. Merlin feels a gentle tug behind his navel and something slots into place. He closes his eyes and lets the sound of Arthur’s heartbeat lull him to sleep.
>> 
>>  
> 
> At the end of the day, he walks out of the gate with his shoulders hunched. He doesn’t know why he feels so bad, so tired and lethargic. He hasn’t felt this way for a long time. He doesn’t remember if he ever really has. Except the last time they were living, the last time Arthur had wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, angry and dangerous, words spilling out of his mouth in his haste to push Merlin away.

> Merlin remembers it like he does everything else. He wishes he had some place to put the memories so that he didn’t have to look at them, relive them when he’s on the cusp of sleep. They wrap around him, an unwanted blanket, and he forces himself to forget, to push them far down where they can’t touch him. It never works. It never _stops_.

> His mother’s smiling face greets him as he opens the door and he wants to collapse against her, breathe in the scent of her and remember a time they lived in Ealdor and the only thing they had to worry about was someone discovering his magic. He wonders now what would have happened had he stayed away from Camelot. She’s perceptive, takes one look at his face and sweeps in to hug him.

> “Tell me,” she says.

**four.**

>   
> 
> 
> She always believes him.

> He doesn’t know why, or how, she just takes everything he says and kisses his forehead. She always does the same thing, _says_ the same thing. She is the one constant in his lives and he could never love her enough for what she gives to him.

> “Darling boy, there is nothing in this world that could make me unlove you.”

> He squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t know what to do.”

> “Of course not.” She threads a hand through his hair. “You’re not expected to.”

> He wishes he could have her blind faith. Everybody has always expected so much of him. In Camelot there was Gaius. The entire kingdom felt as though it rested on his shoulders at times. His destiny was all-encompassing and he still doesn’t know if he’s managed to escape it. He thinks not, with the way years have been passing. He can blame Morgana all he likes, but the curse had to have something to hold onto, to drown him in.

> “These things will fix themselves, Merlin.”

> “I know.”

> They’re silent for a long time. He’s unaware of the length of time that passes before she shifts on the sofa, hand pausing against his head. He knows she wants to ask.

> He smiles gently. “I’ve lost count. Years, centuries. It all bleeds in together until I don’t know who I am anymore.”

> Her face softens. She loves him, still, always. “Merlin, you are whatever you want to be.”

> “And to think,” Merlin says with a laugh, “this morning, all I was worried about was starting a new school.”

> Her smile is kind and she kisses him again, resting her chin on the crown of his head. “School is a time of change, Merlin. Perhaps this will be for the better.”

> He doesn’t dare ask if she means drifting away from Arthur. Somehow, the idea of that makes him feel more than a little sick. Perhaps his mother is right. The feeling of fear that grips him when he thinks of _alone_ is just a product of so many years trying to save Arthur, to set him on the right path.
>
>>   
> 
>
>>   
> 
>> 
>> “I have taken the one thing you love the best,” Morgana says into the curve of his neck. “I have taken it and made it your curse. An eternity protecting Arthur, giving him everything he needs.”
>
>>   
> 

> > Merlin swallows thickly and wishes for his eyes to stay shut forever.
>> 
>>  
>> 
>>  
> 
> _Even if that doesn’t mean_ me.

> He’s spent lifetimes watching Gwen and Arthur, hand in hand. He’s stood between Arthur and the world as Gwen spins away into Lancelot’s arms. “I think I might fail.”

> “Then live,” his mother says gently. “You’re in your last year of school, Merlin. Enjoy it, live it. This thing between you and Arthur will be whatever it is, in its own time. You have classes and field trips and exams between now and then. The rest of your life.”

> Merlin pulls away from her. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that it will end before that; that he’ll be lucky to live out his twenty-second birthday. He thanks her before climbing the stairs to his bedroom. Sinking down into the sheets and pillows, he faces the window and thinks about Camelot, about the rooms he shared with Arthur. Closing his eyes on the memories doesn’t erase them as much as he wishes it so.

**.five**

>   
> 
> 
> Things are different this time.

> The dynamic has shifted and despite the memories, despite the lifetimes they’ve spent together, Merlin expands his social circle. He makes friends that don’t include the memories of his past. They all feel familiar, everyone does the further they spend living, but Merlin ignores it all and takes his mother’s advice. He _lives_. He feels lighter in some ways, smiles more with his friends, enjoys the time he spends at school and at home. In others, there’s an odd weight to his shoulders, the ache in his navel almost painful at times. He doesn’t understand the tiredness or the lacklustre way he tackles this new life.

> His friends show him the world he’s been taking for granted; the cinema, the bowling alleys, the capital city in all its royal glory. They call it the jubilee year, the year of the games, and he can imagine flourishing within the city’s confines. It’s palace, parks and people. Still. There’s a dull edge to everything, a lack of colour to the landscape and he can’t make whatever it is shift back into line. He used to tell, back when he still had magic, his fingertips bursting with energy. Now it’s frustrating; he can’t even ignore the world long enough to focus.

> Still. He lives, he _tries_ to live, and he deliberately does not think of Arthur at all.  
> 

**.six**

>   
> 
> 
> “You can’t ignore me forever.”
>
>>   
> 
>
>> _”This isn’t like you.”_  
> 
>
>> “Merlin. Please talk to him.”
>> 
>>   
> 
>
>> _“I should have listened to you.”_  
> 
>
>> “You’re killing yourself.”
>> 
>>   
> 
>
>> _“You have to have a reason.”_  
> 
> 
> Merlin stares into Morgana’s eyes and _knows_.

  


**.seven**

> The car park is crowded. Students with backpacks at their feet, parents fussing over disinterested children and clipboard-bearing teachers trying to keep everything in order. Merlin’s mother left early for work but she saw him off with a kiss and a hug so he stands on the periphery of the crowd, long fingers wrapped tight around Morgana’s elbow.

> “What did you mean?” Something about the way she says it, matter-of-fact. He should have known it. Should have realised he couldn’t trust her. “What did you _do_?”

> Morgana looks at him in disbelief. “All this time, and you never tried to look for it?”

> Merlin opens his mouth to ask her what she means, but they’re being called. He shoves her forward, finally releasing her arm to grab his backpack. He climbs the bus amidst the flurry of other students and he can’t help but track Arthur’s progress, watching him slide into a seat next to Gwen.

> They’ve stuck together and Merlin wonders if this is part of the curse; even when he doesn’t try, they end up wrapped in a world of _them_.

> He slips into a seat at the rear of the bus and isn’t surprised when Morgana sits next to him. She’s more comfortable here than he can ever remember her being. He doesn’t know what to attribute that too but wants to remember. He files it away for the next time they meet, liking the way the ease softens her face. It reminds him of his first year in Camelot, of her presence in the castle. He’s always been the one responsible for what happened to her, just as she’s responsible for these lives they’re forced to live now.

> “Did you know?”

> Morgana’s lip twitched. “About what?”

> “That we would end up this way?”

> Students lean over each other to wave their parents off as they pull out of the car park. Merlin snorts, thinking of them more as primary school students than those in their final year. Morgana is taking her time with the question, so much so that he almost asks her again. Eventually, she turns to him, cheek resting against the back of the seat. He always thinks she looks beautiful, but she’s even more so now. The anger is less than it was which somehow makes all the difference. “There is no curse that I wouldn’t have endured to best you.”

> It hurts.

> “I never meant to-“

> “Whether you meant to or not,” Morgana cuts across, sharply. “It doesn’t matter now. You did it. I cursed you.” She looks bitter as she looks past him, out of the window at the rolling landscape. “An eternity of reliving and remembering our mistakes.”

> _Of which there are many_.

> Merlin resists the urge to look over at Arthur. He can wish all he wants for the mistakes to vanish. It doesn’t make any difference. He can feel her eyes on his face, searching for whatever it is she thinks she needs to see.

> “Before, I asked if you had ever looked.” She waits for his nod. “The curse. I’m surprised you never looked it up.”

> Merlin lowers his voice, as though it matters when their classmates are talking about things that seem inconsequential now. “It’s magic I would never have touched. Gaius knew nothing. I didn’t know where to start looking.” He pauses, giving her a wry smile. “You would never have told me, not then.”

> A look that’s almost contrite settles on her face. It’s not that, not really, he doesn’t think she will ever stop being angry enough to feel truly sorry about it. Perhaps never more than involving herself by proxy. Studying him again, she doesn’t reply. Instead, she leans over, slides fingers along the pulse point of his wrist. Her forehead leans into his and she kisses him, lips soft and cold. Before he can pull away, pain explodes in his stomach. He grunts and slams back against the window. He gasps out, “What the hell,” and Morgana looks triumphant.

> He turns away from her, resting his forehead against the glass and sucking in deep breaths. The pain recedes back to the dull ache that’s been a constant for as long as he’s been aware. He understands a little, he thinks., he’s been piecing everything together slowly. He dares a look over at Arthur who’s leaning in close to Gwen for what could be for any number of reasons. Merlin’s hands shake when he clenches them against his knees.

> “Does he feel it too?”

> Morgana tips hr head back against the seat. “The curse wasn’t for Arthur.”

> Merlin doesn’t think he has ever hated her more.

 

**.eight**

>   
> 
> 
> The worksheet stopped making sense three exhibits back. Merlin slides it into his bag and shoulders it, disappearing into the crowds of people. He wonders for a little, glad to be away from the other students, free to wander the halls alone as long as he checks in at the scheduled times. It gives him time to think, to wrap his mind around Morgana’s revelations.

> He’s circling the whale exhibit when he runs into Arthur.

> “Hi,” Merlin says, aware it’s the first time he’s voluntarily spoken to Arthur in a long time.

> Arthur looks as cool as always, stowing his pen and paper into his bag and standing slowly. “Merlin.”

> There’s something in his voice that Merlin can’t place. “Where’s Gwen?”

> Something shifts on Arthur’s face but he shrugs easily enough. “She went off with Elyan.”

> Merlin frowns. “I didn’t even know-“

> “Yeah,” Arthur says quickly. “There’s a lot you missed.”

> It should hurt but it doesn’t. Merlin doesn’t even think about it. He just forces his feet to walk, the anger he’d felt at Morgana receding behind the nonchalance he’s been affecting for days. He’s barely passed the rhino when Arthur falls into step with him.

> It takes him a moment. “I’m sorry.”

> Merlin stops, looking at Arthur questioningly. “For what?”

> Looking uncomfortable, something painfully familiar, Arthur shrugs. “I say things all the time that you hate.”

> Merlin doesn’t back down. He’s never been a coward, not when Arthur’s standing with him, and even if they’re not exactly together right now, they’re not apart. Not anymore.

> “You were everywhere.”

> Ready to berate Arthur for not understanding, Merlin abruptly closes his mouth. “What?”

> Arthur’s eyes are alight with a fire that Merlin hasn’t seen in a long, long time. “Every lifetime, every year. Whether I was with Gwen, or standing alone, you were always there.”

> Merlin sinks down onto one of the benches lining the exhibits. Arthur follows leaving mere inches between them on the seat. Something flares in Merlin’s chest and the ache that’s been a constant companion dulls. He tips his head back against the glass. “Morgana’s curse.”

> He feels the anger resonating off of Arthur but doesn’t comment on it. He has enough anger of his own to refrain from calling Arthur on it. “I didn’t think you’d ever leave.”

> “You thought I’d always be around, no matter how you treated me?” Merlin can’t even bring himself to feel the anger he wants to. “I’m tired, Arthur.”

> Arthur starts a little. “You too, huh?”

> Merlin remembers all too well what Morgana has told him, the conclusions of his own that he’s reached. “I think the curse has some unfortunate side effects.”

> Resting his elbows on his knees, Arthur turns to face him slowly, eyebrows raised. “Gwen and Morgana seem fine.”

> He betrays nothing. “It’s been hurting ever since you yelled at me. Ever since we parted.”

> It feels too much like he’s giving everything away but Arthur was never an idiot. Merlin would call him that sometimes, too many times, but he wasn’t ever. Not really. Merlin’s magic was never as much of a secret as he wanted it to be. The one thing he always managed to hide, always managed to keep anyone from noticing, is this _thing_ blossoming out from his chest. This love.

> “When you say unfortunate side effects.” Arthur sits back, shifting on the bench until he’s straddling lit. Merlin wants to turn but doesn’t know if he’s brave enough. “This tiredness, the ache in my chest.”

> Merlin feels like he could cry. “I have to watch you, every single time, go off with Gwen. Even when it’s not Gwen, I have to pretend that it’s all okay, that nothing matters more than you.”

> “But it isn’t.” Arthur forms the words slowly and Merlin knows that he gets it, that he understands. “All this time, Merlin.”

> He sounds pained, like he can feel all of Merlin’s hurt and anger and pain. It seems impossible but nothing about this is normal, expected or calling. “I’m sorry.”

> “No,” Arthur snaps, lifting a hand to Merlin’s face. His skin feels like it’s on fire, spreading all through his body until he thrums with it. _Need_. “You should have told me.”

> Merlin swallows down the hysterical laughter before it can escape. “I’m not a damsel in distress, Arthur. I would have handled it for another thousand lifetimes.”

> Arthur shakes his head. “Eternity, Merlin, is longer than is seems. Would you have lasted forever like this? Never being allowed to-”

> “Arthur,” Merlin lifts a hand and curls it around Arthur’s arm, thumb sliding against the pulse point in his wrist. He sucks in a breath at the steady beat and thinks _it’s in time with_ mine. “It’s been a thousand eternities already.”

> “Camelot,” Arthur breathes. He remembers, just like Merlin. They had years back then, sharing everything and sparing each other nothing. They were so wrapped up in each other, even when Arthur married Gwen, when Merlin left to find Morgana. Through it all, they were always together. Something, Merlin knows, the curse didn’t leave alone.

> He drops his head forward, resting it against Arthur’s arm. “Could you ever be parted from me?”

> Arthur shifts on the seat and Merlin doesn’t have to look to know he’s uncomfortable. “No.”

> Surprised, Merlin lifts his head.

> Arthur’s eyes are a brilliant blue and he licks his lips before smiling. “You were always by my side, Merlin. You didn’t think that was your choice alone?”

> _And extremely loyal, to be honest._

> That soft, dull ache behind his navel is blossoming into something different. Merlin leans forward, pressing his cheek to Arthur’s. He closes his eyes and doesn’t even care who might be looking, or listening. “You choose me.”

> “Yeah,” Arthur breathes out, nosing at the curve of Merlin’s ear. “I do.”  
> 

**.nine**

> Now that he has him, Merlin can’t stop touching Arthur. They both seem to be affected by the same thing; Arthur keeps his hand pressed to the base of Merlin’s spine, whether he’s walking next to him or behind. It’s as though they’re connected by something deeper, something that swims through Merlin like it’s always belonged.

> He wants to leave, wants to take Arthur somewhere and never let him go, but they’re on a field trip and there’s nowhere to escape to. They disappear into the mess of exhibits about ships and naval history and Arthur presses Merlin up against one of the bare walls, out of the way of prying eyes.

> Arthur kisses him, lips tasting exactly as Merlin knew they would; they fit in ways he could never have predicted. On the first press of Arthur’s mouth to his, Merlin’s hands press to Arthur’s hips, fingers digging into the crease of Arthur’s hipbones, even through his t-shirt. He’s aware of a soft buzzing at the back of his mind, something that sounds inherently like _Arthur_ and he pulls away.

> “The curse,” he gasps slowly. “Arthur-”

> “It’s always been there,” Arthur admits slowly. Merlin wants to shake him, to demand why he never said anything, but Arthur is touching his face, kissing him again and again.

> Merlin slides a hand into Arthur’s hair, palm resting against the base of Arthur’s skull. “We can’t ever part.” He thinks it comes out like a sob, closing his eyes against the onslaught of what that means. “We can’t ever-“

> “I know.” Arthur’s a master at controlling his voice, at betraying nothing, but he’s completely open. He looks Merlin in the eye as he says, “I don’t care.”  
> 

**zero.**

> He’s going to live forever. He just doesn’t have to do it _alone_.  
> 

**the beginning**  



End file.
